


Teacher

by IroncladValkyrie



Category: Hellsing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IroncladValkyrie/pseuds/IroncladValkyrie
Summary: Private lessons can get intense.





	Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> I had been toying with this idea for a couple of months and had it almost done, sitting there.
> 
> Kinda crack for me, based loosely on the Argentinean band Miranda's song El Profe ("The Teacher") ;)
> 
>  
> 
> I would like to be your teacher, actually your professor  
> The one to teach about love  
> The things you already know but hide  
> I want you to lie to me when I ask about your age  
> (...)  
> You really shine playing the role of the naive one  
> And I am starting to suspect  
> That you are my favorite student and have fallen into my trap.
> 
> (Ideal lyrics for 14-year-olds to sing at the top of their lungs, you see)

He had him sitting across from him, this young man, eyes as entranced in his lesson as he ever had been. He suspected, however, that his attention was not in the Bible verses that he was reciting to him. He sighed, and started walking towards him.

“You are not paying attention.”

His pupil blinked a couple of times, as if to clear his mind. “What would make you think that, Father? Have I not obediently remained here through your lesson?”

He set the holy book on the classroom desk and loomed over his student. “Are you going to tell me what is on your mind?”

The faintest of blushes spread through Enrico’s face.

“It is nothing.” His voice stuttered, and so he moved closer to him. _To hear him better,_ he said to himself _._  Only that.

“It is not. You better tell me or…”

Violet eyes took a darker shade and a pink tongue darted out to lick his lips. Nobody this young should be able to do such things, with so much intention…

“How could I focus when you are the one teaching me?” He had propped himself on his elbows to be at the same level, those moist lips drawing dangerously close to his.

“What are you doing?”

“I have been wanting you for so long, teacher…”

“This is wrong.” Too young, too pure, too-

“It can't be wrong when it feels right.” Cliché words if there had ever been any, but the foot that pressed against him only to travel to the hardness between his legs stopped him from replying. “I know you look at me. You don't see me as a child. I am no longer one.”

_He shouldn't. He mustn't. So wrong, so wrong, so-_

The door started sliding open and both men jumped apart as fast as possible, all spell broken.

A blonde head peeked in. Anderson turned his face away from her to look at the window, trying not to fumble with the buttons of his shirt because it would have made it even more obvious.

“Chief, Yumiko and I were coming to bring our report… I guess this is not a good time…” Heinkel’s words were apologetic but the expression on her face was more annoyed than anything. _This again._

Unlike his mentor, Enrico always had had a hard time hiding his blushes. Not that he needed to; being in charge of the whole operation allowed for this type of incidents to be overlooked.

He merely ran a hand through his hair to  straighten it up, cleared his throat, and replied, “No, not a good time. Bring them in tomorrow and… yes, you two go get something nice to eat in Trastevere or something.”

 

The gunslinger raised an eyebrow. At least they could get something out of these, eh, _intrusions_. With no further words, the door was closed again, and her confident steps could be heard growing fainter and fainter down the hallway.

The Paladin threw his head back and finally exhaled in relief.

“Really, Enrico, we are getting too old for this.”

The younger man simply chuckled and stood up from his chair and away from his office desk. The pretense was shattered, but that didn't mean that the night ought to be ruined. He stood in front of his lover and walked his gloved fingers up his bare chest between the unbuttoned portion of the shirt, then up his neck, until he cupped his jaw, and he leaned in to breathe against his lips:

“Ah, but, Anderson, that is what play is for.”

With the door tightly shut and the lock in place this time, the evening, and the game, carried on.


End file.
